


crew killer, if that's what you'll be

by tyomawrites



Series: crew killer [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Jack Rackham fucks shit up, F/M, He's just overcompensating to protect Anne, Implied One-Sided VaneRackham, Kinda Dark Jack, Manipulation, Manipulative Jack Rackham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 18:44:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18474865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyomawrites/pseuds/tyomawrites
Summary: No one overestimates a scrawny sixteen year old who wields his words like a knife, instead of wielding the actual knives he has on his belt. Now, at twenty-nine, men still underestimate him because he prefers to run his mouth and talk circles around them, rather than fight with his fists.Jack's been underestimated too many times, it's time he takes it into his own hands.





	crew killer, if that's what you'll be

He supposes he should feel bad that Anne has done all the dirty work for him, but when Hammund comes up to him with the words crew killer, sneered on his lips, something dangerously violent rears up inside him, something that he’d hidden for such a long time ever since he’d slit Anne’s Husbands throat.

No one overestimates a scrawny sixteen year old who wields his words like a knife, instead of wielding the actual knives he has on his belt. Now, at twenty-nine, men still underestimate him because he prefers to run his mouth and talk circles around them, rather than fight with his fists. So, he lets himself be beaten and humiliated and pissed on in the sand, and he doesn’t deny that he was the one who slaughtered the eight remaining members of his crew.  _ Honestly it’d be less of a blow to the men if they thought he did it, versus Anne. _

_ Crew Killer _ , if that’s what they will deem him. Well he’s always collected names for himself, what’s one more to add to the collection.

After he dusts himself off and is left behind to his own devices, he drags himself down to the brothel. His upper lip is caked in blood, the violent creature in him that had reared his head settles back into the pit of his stomach. His left sleeve and shoulder is soaked in piss and he looks a mess, sand lingering in all the crevices of his clothes and hair. He’s Jack fucking Rackham, quartermaster to the  _ Ranger _ , with or without Charles Vane and god be damned if he wasn’t going to get his shit together to face the other captain’s and make Eleanor Guthrie change her mind about deposing and banishing Charles from Nassau. He makes a small scene in the brothel, lashing out with a curse about Nassau making everything miserable. He sends a mug clattering across the table with little effort, it spills what little rum it had inside of it left. The action garners the attention of a few men close by but they lose their interest quickly.

They don’t pay him any mind and that’s just how he likes it. That night, Anne notices the steel in his eyes as he slips on more knives onto his belt.

“He won’t be grateful you’re doing this.” Anne whispers to him as he adjusts his cravat and shirt. He pays her no mind for the time being, until all his weapons are snug on his hip and he can draw them without them getting caught on the embroidered hem of his shirt. He tugs his coat over his shoulders once he was sure they won’t catch, and then he turns to face her. He pulls her close and presses a kiss to the top of her hat. 

“I know darling.” But Charles will get over it.  _ Well maybe he wouldn’t, _ but Jack will tell himself after it was done that Charles would.

The creature in the pit of his stomach stares from behind his own eyes, out at Mister Scott and Eleanor Guthrie while they’re sitting in the tavern. Anne only needs to nudge his hand in a small attempt of comfort and a soothing gesture for the creature inside him after their conversation. Nonetheless, she hefts her dual short swords from her belt when the night grows darker and the moon pulls itself further into the sky. Mister Scott bids a goodnight from the tavern’s bar first, slipping away. 

Eleanor is completely oblivious to the death stare he is giving her, his own brown eyes training on the length of her throat. Then, comes the moment that he is waiting for. Eleanor slips off her bar stool and begins trekking towards the door. O’Malley is occupied by one of Naft’s crew-members mouthing off and being cock, Jack slips out of his chair and stands. Anne slips away from his side, ready to secure their exit after the deed is done. Jack sticks to the shadows, creeping along the dirt until Eleanor drifts past the alleyway next to the butcher. He lunges, yanking one of his knives from its sheath as he does so. 

It sits nicely under her chin as he tugs her down into the alleyway. He has one arm wrapped around her shoulders and chest, squeezing tightly and pinning her in place. Eleanor struggles fruitlessly against him but freezes when he presses his knife further into her skin, threatening to break it.

“What do you want?” He chest heaves underneath the press of his arm. It makes him chuckle. She doesn’t recognize his laugh or his frame and he turns the knife, so that the cutting edge is now tilted against her throat rather than her chin and he begins to tut softly, a soft, mocking chastise.

“Now now Miss Guthrie, isn’t it obvious.” Jack drawls. He taps the edge of the knife against her skin.

“Rackham.” She breathes and Jack snorts at the disbelief and relief that floods her voice with the single release of his name. “Put down the knife.” She says, almost like she isn’t afraid, but the tremble in her cheek and lips gives her away.

“Now you’re not in any position to be making any demands.” He laughs into her ear and he pulls her further into the darkness of the alleyway. She scoffs and twists like she’s trying to look at him. He presses the knife further against her throat, just breaking the skin so that blood can bead from the small line. She stills with a gasp, like the realization that he’s serious has finally dawned onto her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She hisses quietly.

“Negotiations.” He says simply, steadying his grip on her as he begins to trace the knife along the side of her throat while he talks. “Simply, you give my captain back his ship, you let my captain back onto this island and I let you keep your life.” He teases the knife across her windpipe as she trembles and pricks the skin.“If you don’t agree? Well then I’ll be taking that fort of yours from Hornigold, and I’ll blow every ship that isn’t the Ranger into kingdom come, do you understand that?”

“You don’t have the means nor the men.” She retorts, before flinching when he drags the knife with a little more pressure.

“You should know better Miss Guthrie.” He drawls smugly, mostly to himself. “To be underestimated is a gift.” He delivers a swift knock to her temple with the handle of his knife and then shoves her towards the wall, turning her so that she can see his face. He glowers when she is about to protest, and there’s an audible click as her mouth snaps shut.

“You will do as I tell you.” He mutters lowly. “Or I will make you regret not ever doing so, do you understand that?” He cocks an eyebrow as she nods, her throat rising and falling underneath the blade of the knife. “Good.” He lifts the knife incredibly slow from her throat, still staring at her. He steps back, just an inch.

“Oh and Miss Guthrie.” Her eyes flick to him, scared. She shakes, as she wait for him to continue. “If you tell anyone about this I will kill you slowly and painfully, do understand that.” He adds. She nods again, quicker this time and Jack hums mostly to himself in content. He waves her away, like he’s shooing away a pet or stray mutt and watches with a steely but satisfied gaze as she runs from the alleyway.

He glances down at the knife in his hand, a stray bead of blood lingers on the blade. He thumbs at it and swipes up the blood, before bringing it to his lips and tastes it. The metallic taste settles into the back of his throat and he smiles mostly to himself. A lazy, satisfied grin spreads across his face as he steps out of the alleyway. He meets Anne’s blazing eyes in the dark. The moonlight catches on the blue of her eyes and the beads in her hair. Her own mouth is pressed into a thin line, but the corners of her lips turn upwards into a pseudo-smile when she spots the lazy grin on his face. They walk back together towards the brothel, passing O’Malley who’s none the wiser.

Jack tucks his thumbs into the leather of his belt as he walks and nods mostly to himself, humming a soft tune that carries in the night sky. He’s already running the numbers in his mind, back and forth, weighing the cost of taking the fort before and after Charles returns to Nassau, if he ever returns.

He’ll take the fort for himself anyway, it could be useful in the future.

 

* * *

 

Charles returns with a new crew. From god knows where he sneaks into Nassau from the interior with a bunch of  _ animals _ and takes the fort and displaces Hornigold before Jack can put his own plan into motion. He doesn’t lie and says it hurts, when he spots Charles sporting more than a few marks on his face, scabbed over and still healing, and Charles doesn’t acknowledge him in the slightest. He ignores the pang in his chest when he realizes that Charles doesn’t even bother to find out if he and Anne are still willing to be a part of his crew.

He sighs mostly to himself but a change in plans isn’t the worst he’s dealt with. Instead he lingers over by the brothel, talking numbers with Max while Anne is lounging halfway into his lap. She’s become almost as valuable as Anne is in the light of recent events.

So he makes a new plan and removes Noonan from the ownership of the brothel with a few well placed threats and a knife or three. Noonan abandons all ownership of the brothel to him and is out of Nassau on a sloop with whatever men left loyal to him in the middle of the night. That morning, he has legitimate ownership of the brothel and he’s appointed Max as the new Madam. He settles himself into a chair with Anne sitting on the edge of it as they open up for business for the first night under new ownership. 

The  _ Walrus  _ crew is supportive of his venture, yes he’s upped the prices of the girls, but with added comforts, better food, better spirits and wine, security of Anne and her dual short-swords and the wave of one of his own knives and some of them men he’s hired, there’s no trouble, the girls are protected. Soon enough it spreads around the crews and people of Nassau that Rackham’s girls are taken care of, that coming to his brothel is a good time and everyone’s treated well as long as the girls are treated well.

Well that might be true.

Because he takes care of his own.

 

* * *

 

Eleanor has a small, light scar on her throat. No one would notice it, Jack shouldn’t be able too, since it’s so light and thin that it should be almost invisible. But he’s the one who put it there so when he looks at her, it gleams brightly, almost like a piece of eight. He has a seat at the table when Eleanor calls for a meeting. He hasn’t had the pleasure of killing her just yet, but his slow rise to power is making her anxious. He’s not deliberately doing it, since he’s only looking now, to secure Anne’s future and indirectly Max’s and the rest of the girls in the brothel that he’s grown fond of.

He has the title of captain and the rumours to back it. He renames the  _ Colonial Dawn _ to  _ Crew Killer _ the first chance he gets, so he can see the way the men on Naft’s and Lawrence’s crew blanch when he settles a hat on the top of his head and lounges around with a steely eyed look. Mister Featherstone —Augustus, the man insists—is a decent quartermaster, he does what he’s told without unnecessary questions and isn’t afraid of talking back to him. He earns Jack’s respect and makes Jack laugh, and old piece of normal Jack shines through.

Charles on the other hand, has too many questions and not enough time to talk them. As Jack lounges in his chair, while they’re waiting for Hornigold and Flint to come in from the camps outside, since Hornigold is displaced from the fort, Jack is engaged in a staring match with Charles. Charles is gazing at him, confusion evident if you know where to look. His nose is scrunched up slightly and his eyes are set, a blazing deep sea blue.

Charles doesn’t recognize the man calling himself Jack Rackham.

Jack understands, because before Charles had been banned from Nassau, Jack’s had no reason to be the way he is now. His hat sits slightly lopsided on his head and it teeters when Flint and Hornigold finally make it through the door. Naft and Lawrence perk up, a silent gesture that screams at their impatience. Hornigold and Flint sit down, Flint to his left and Hornigold to Flint’s left. Charles is at Eleanor’s right and Naft and Lawrence are between him and Charles.

Jack leans back in his chair and stares as Eleanor begins to talk. The entirety of the meeting is filled with talk, Jack listens with one ear, storing information away, but his eyes are fixed firmly on Charles. The meeting goes as smoothly as it can go, he lingers as Naft and Lawrence leave, as do Hornigold and Flint. He thumbs over the handle of his knife as he leans against his chair and looks at Eleanor through hooded eyes. 

“I do believe we had an arrangement.” He drawls at her, just to see her squirm. She opens her mouth and he raises a hand for her to pause. “Ah, I know our circumstances have changed, but I do expect compliance from you Miss Guthrie.” He waves his hand dismissively and she nods, her eyes darting to the floor. Jack lifts his head from her frame, he’s aware of Charles’ lingering presence in the room. His former Captain is staring at him gobsmacked. 

“Good afternoon.” He bows, albeit mockingly towards Eleanor before leaving the room. Charles chases him. Charles grips onto his elbow from behind. On instinct, he spins, it’s faster than Charles is used to from him. One of his knives is settled with it’s blade pressed flat against Charles’ throat. He clears his throat awkwardly and shifts his weight, sheathing his knife as Charles looks at him bewildered.

“Jack…” Charles starts. His voice is still as low and rough as Jack remembers. Charles gazes at him, like he’s searching for words.

“Glad to see you didn’t die wherever you went to.” It’s a low blow Jack thinks, but the feeling that he’d been abandoned when Charles had disappeared in his one man sloop had him feeling bitter. “What would you like Charles?” 

Charles hesitates, before he drops his hold on Jack’s elbow and sighs. “What happened to you?” 

Jack laughs, for a second he hears a shadow of what he sounded like before Charles left, a lot more carefree, less cold. He flicks his gaze across Charles’ frame and tilts his head to the side. “Nothing happened.” He answers slowly. 

A boy tugs onto his sleeve, it’s Jean, one of the brothel girl’s son. Jean hands him a letter in exchange for a coin. He shoos the boy away with a smile and when he looks up again to Charles’ face, his expression has softened.

“So you’re a captain now.” Charles’ eyes linger on the multiple knives on his belt. “With a reputation.” 

Jack chuckles and shakes his head, something clenches at his chest when Charles gives him a tentative smile. “Hmm yes, needed to do something for myself and Anne you see, to secure our safety , seeing as I was dubbed as a crew killer and Anne is always going to associated with me and me, her.” He explains while crossing his arms over his chest.

“I would’ve dispelled those rumours Jack.” Charles starts.

“And pray tell, when would you have done that? While I was getting beaten and pissed on, while you took the fort with a new crew?” Jack sighs and steps away when Charles reaches out for him. “I understand that Eleanor’s betrayal hurt you Charles, but you still had people loyal to you.” Charles’ expression twists with guilt and Jack backs up from him. “We were still loyal to you.” 

“I’ll make it up to you.” Charles promises, eyes darting across Jack’s face. “I will Jack.” 

Jack hums, staring back. “I should fucking hope so.” He mutters under his breath once Charles turns away. He makes his way back to the brothel without another word, until he collapses into one of the chairs like the conversation drained all his energy. Anne comes over and lounges across his lap. She rubs the back of his neck and his shoulder and leans down to kiss his hairline like she knows what the tension in his shoulders is from.

“Still hurts doesn’t it, looking at him.” She whispers to him later, when they’re naked and wrapped up in each other. 

“More than you’d ever believe.” She smooths a hand over his unruly hair and pushes it out of his face. “He thinks something happened to me? To make me like this.” Jack turns over on the mattress and faces her. She gazes at him for a while, before a breath puffs out of her lips and she sighs.

“Didn’t it though.” Anne gestures vaguely with one of her hands and he knows what she’s talking about.

“You’ve seen me, you know this is me.” He protests.

“But  _ he _ hasn’t.” She stresses and pokes him in the centre of his chest. 

Jack huffs but doesn’t argue. She’s right. Charles hasn’t seen him like this, maybe they need to talk after all. Anne rolls them both over so she’s on top and staring down at him, knees planted on either side of his hips as she leans down to kiss the corner of his mouth.

There’s a lot they need to fucking talk about.


End file.
